


But She's a Cheerleader!

by Pedisavium (GoldenDelicious)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Arguing, F/F, First Time, Foot Fetish, Mass Effect 2, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDelicious/pseuds/Pedisavium
Summary: This is a second person POV rewrite of one of my older works.You find yourself stuck between your hatred and your desires. If it was anyone else... But the image of her toes in your mind get the best of your curiosity...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [But She's a Cheerleader! (old)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719668) by [Pedisavium (GoldenDelicious)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDelicious/pseuds/Pedisavium). 



> I wrote this over a year ago, and I had been meaning to add to it, but it didn't happen. I've decided I wanted to rewrite it since I liked the story and I'd like to see myself go further with it. I can't promise I won't drop it again, but I have a good feeling about it this time. 
> 
> The story is mostly unchanged from the last one, but I hope you would agree the writing is better throughout, (not saying it's great, just better than it was). I'm still not completely happy with everything, but I could spend ages on it and still not be satisfied.

_She must have removed her boots,_ _this place smells of it_ _._ That's your first thought as you charge into Miranda's Office, blood flowing. Having just returned from Pragia, you have to get this out now or you'll lose it. “You lied to Shepard about my file. You never told her about what I did, or what Cerberus did to me.”

Miranda is on her sofa, removing her boots after having just sat down. “I was not the one who briefed Shepard,” she says calmly. “Nor did I ask to go down there.”

Her placid attitude isn't helping. “Listen, cheerleader. It was a lie of omission. Cerberus is just looking out for it's interests, too concerned with itself to be truthful to the very person who's saving their asses right now. They don't mind using her just like they didn't mind using me.”

Miranda takes a proper seat at her desk and swivels to face you a little more head on. “Shepard understands that at the end of the day, Cerberus will do everything it can to help her reach her goal. She has our full support in our fight against the reapers and the collectors. That does not mean we will cease to exercise discretion when handling sensitive matters.”

“Typical Cerberus bullshit! You can't even admit you fucked up,” You say calmly, certain that this argument is now in your favor. You give Miranda a smirk, watching her at her desk. The smell crosses your mind again, and to Miranda's credit it wasn't that offensive. You see Miranda's feet, her legs crossed, just sitting there. It gives you an odd feeling, and you realize that you've never seen her feet before. It feels almost as if she were naked, which is silly to you given the incredibly revealing harness you wear everywhere.

“It is not up to you or me. Believe me when I say that everyone involved wants nothing but to see the commander succeed. I put two years of my life into her and Cerberus has invested countless resources. We're not going to sabotage our incredible investments by misleading her.”

You're tired of her voice. “You shouldn't have gone down there.”

“Shepard asked me to go. Obviously she wanted more than just your side of the story,” Miranda retorts back.

Hearing that made you unreasonably upset. “Well for someone with such perfect genes, you have smelly feet!” You spit the words out, not to be out-retorted.

Miranda scoffs incredulously, consciously grabbing her shoes and tossing them in the back. “I can't believe you! You _do_ know how long we were gone for? I still sweat just like any other person, I'm not magical.”

Your anger diffuses into embarrassment and uncertainty. You had no idea why you chose to say that, she never even brought up her genes. You stand there near her door, far enough away that it doesn't open automatically. Miranda watches you from her desk, her feet on the ground in between the two of you. You feel the tension rising in yourself as her eyes watch you, implacable. You become very conscious of your expression, careful not to let your inner feelings compromise the air of anger that had filled the room only moments ago.

But it's too late now. It's been quiet for too long and the air is gone.

Neither of you moved, yet to you her feet suddenly seem closer, the details more clear as though you're noticing them for the first time. As much as you think her genetic superiority crap was smoke, you have to admit to yourself that Miranda's feet seem flawless. Every detail about them calls out to you, their symmetry, their shape, their size. The skin is a smooth milky white, her toenails perfect and clean. You have no fondness for women, you don't have a thing for feet, and you certainly don't have a thing for the cheerleader or her perfect genes. However, in this one moment of weakness, a strange thought passes through your head before you could notice you were having it. _I wonder what they taste like._ You could feel something stirring from within you.

“I didn't barge into your hidey-hole and take my shoes off,” Miranda states smugly. “I'm also not the one staring at my feet right now.” Your vision snaps back up to her smug face.

You panic a little inside, but play it off. “Oh, please! I wasn't staring… thinking.”

“Really? About what?” She sounds half joking, as if you two are friends getting over a spat.

You despise the idea of being nice to her, but you couldn't think of anything to be toxic about at the moment, except about how much her feet smell for some reason. You want to be tactful. “About… Cerberus.” It's not very convincing. Before she could say anything else, you start to leave. You have to get the thoughts of her feet out of your head.

“Of course,” Miranda adds halfheartedly as the door closes, and you grind your teeth in frustration. You hate letting her have the last word. Whatever Miranda's toes stirred up is replaced with wonder. You wonder what the hell just happened to you because you simply don't fawn over anything, or anybody. Especially not the cheerleader. You stop outside her door as the thoughts of what you _should_ have said come rushing into your mind. You begin formulating an argument in your head, determined to have the last word.

Not two paces away, you turn around and walk back into Miranda's cabin. She's about to start working on her terminal when you stop in front of her desk. “Don't get such a big head here! Just 'cause you're so perfect you think everyone's attracted to you?”

You replay what you just said over in your head. It sounded good on the way up here, but somehow it wasn't exactly what you meant to say or how you meant to say it. Miranda sits back in her chair and puts her bare feet on the desk in front of you. She remains calm as ever as she speaks. “I've never said that.”

You find her attitude to be very passive aggressive. “Come on, you're practically oozing narcissism, cheerleader. You probably think I want your feet...” you stop there, afraid what you might say will be used against you.

Miranda wears a big smile. “I actually do think that,” she says confidently. “Well, yeah I can be narcissistic... but I do think you want my feet.”

You can't think of anything that would help you here; you feel so embarrassed to have been goaded into this. You wish you could bring the conversation back to Pragia just so you could have the moral high ground again. “Don't be so smug, cheerleader, your feet aren't much to look at.”

Miranda laughs at the insult. “I suppose yours are any better? Or maybe you prefer the commander's? I bet _she_ has smelly feet. Oh Jack! You must see how transparent you are. You haven't helped your case.”

Normally you have no trouble getting into arguments with anybody. If you don't win with words, you win with violence. But this time it's different. Somehow violence isn't an option. You're in a precarious position; Miranda has been very lighthearted since you returned and it's all getting on your nerves. “Oh, bite me, cheerleader! I'd rather take it from a Elcor than lick your…” You had to stop from physically hitting yourself in the face in front of Miranda. You grit your teeth a little and speak the words almost painfully. “I was staring at your feet earlier only because I'd realized that I'd never seen them before.”

“Really? That's all?” Miranda says, overtly playful now. She's grinning like an idiot, and it's not helping your mood.

“Yes, that's all,” you say, your voice showing your frustration. You resolve to leave, your pride has been damaged enough. You only wish EDI isn't listening to this.

You turn around and are about to leave when Miranda pipes up. “You know, if someone was curious, I wouldn't be upset if my feet were licked. One lick to satisfy curiosity would be harmless.”

The doors close behind you. On the way back to your deck you walk past Sgt. Donnelly who nearly leaps out of your way. You were just propositioned by the one person in the whole galaxy you despise the most. You try to think about what it is that you would have done to her first, imagining all the ways in which you would have simply used force to shut Miranda up before the whole conversation ever left Cerberus or its vile actions. You seethe for a few hours until you hear the idle chatter of Kenneth and Gabby depart for their bunks.

Now it's quiet, not even EDI is down here, or at least she has no interface. Alone with your thoughts, you feel your mood lighten slowly as you begin to think about the actual offer.

* * *

Miranda is still at her terminal when you burst in for a third time. “Is there something I can help you with?” Miranda asks, sounding perhaps a little upset.

You talked yourself into it, but you couldn't think of a way to accept it without coming off as weak. You hoped it would come to you on the way up here, but it didn't. You walk over and sit down at the sofa, hands on the edge pushing your knees together, your body language revealing how nervous you were.

“Maybe this is about the offer I made earlier?” Miranda says, perking right up. You wonder if she's happy at being right or happy about humiliating you into doing this. You spot her boots again, and wonder if her feet would smell again; perhaps you shouldn't do it then.

Miranda notices your gaze on her boots. “I had to speak with Mr. Moreau, it wouldn't have been appropriate to go up there barefoot.”

“Don't take this as proof that I have forgotten about what you said earlier… or that we're friends,” you say, with some dignity, “but I will try your offer.”

“Oh Jack, I wouldn't dream of being friends,” Miranda says, dispelling any of the weight your words had carried. “I would love to let you lick my feet, but you see I'm in the middle of typing up this report, the Illusive Man expects it from me very soon.”

You look up at her, fury in your eyes. You were perhaps more furious you let yourself come up here and ask her. You knew this was exactly what Miranda wanted to see; now violence seemed like a very good answer. But before you could move or say anything Miranda speaks first. “But, I suppose I don't need my feet for that.” With that, Miranda turns back to her terminal and starts typing away, albeit slowly. She steals a careful glance back at you and after seeing the anger still on her face, fixes her attention on the terminal and flimsily pretends to be engrossed in her work.

For once, you finally feel like you have control of the situation. Miranda's actions betrayed her interest in the situation, and you could tell she wants you to do it almost as much as you do. But still, you have her permission; all you have to do is go over there and remove her boots and you could get the lick you've been craving. It's been less than 24 hours since you first saw Miranda's toes. So quickly you became infatuated by them that you would admit to your arch-nemesis that you want to lick her feet. You could not imagine a more bizarre situation you were ever in your whole life. You wonder if this is really your sex-drive, notably absent since your arrival at Purgatory.

You sit down in front of the desk and take a booted leg. You stop, feeling the need to clear the record. “Miranda,” you say, forgoing any name-calling, “if you tell anyone about any of this, I will make it the last thing you tell anyone.” Your tone was perfect and inside you congratulate yourself on the excellent delivery. Miranda says nothing, hesitating as she tries to look busy.

You take that as solemn agreement and continue your efforts. You're about to unzip the boot, but can't find a zipper, or Velcro, or buckles… nothing. You wrench a finger into the rim and, realizing how tight it was, unwrench it. It doesn't come off that way. With incredulity, you realize what it is you need to do. You're not at all shocked that the cheerleader would wear such ridiculous footwear on a daily basis. No wonder she took it off so infrequently, it must be an ordeal. “Do I seriously need to biotically remove these?”

She appeared to be waiting for you to notice. “I can get that,” she says, and at a moments notice spins around and her boot begins to glow as she uses her abilities to squeeze her leg out of there. When she gets the first one off, you take it from her, and immediately notice the smell. It's the same smell as earlier, a little stronger of course, but now that you have it you want to get a good sniff of it, only to satisfy your curiosity. You look up at Miranda and make sure she isn't looking before you bring the boot up to your nose and inhale. This you immediately wish you didn't do; it's too strong, and your face recoils disgust.

“If the smell is so bad, why did you even come up here?” Miranda asks, taking the boot away from you. You don't want to say, because you weren't sure why, but somehow the smell wasn't bad, just a little strong. She throws her boots back towards the foot of her bed and goes back to her terminal, but can't be bothered to pretend to type anything. You take a moment to inspect her feet. They really are captivating, not a single blemish on her milky white feet, every toe perfectly formed, all features undoubtedly perfect, except… Miranda had painted her toenails. You couldn't believe her audacity. It was as if she expected you to come back to her, so she painted her toenails hot pink, your least favorite color.

“You bitch,” you exclaim, “You did this just to spite me, didn't you?”

Miranda fights back a chuckle, yet says nothing. Despite their flamboyant pinkness, looking upon them makes you feel that same stirring inside you that you felt only hours ago. This foot now in your hand makes you feel something that you wish you could deny; you wouldn't admit it to the cheerleader, but you were turned on. Luckily you found that her foot didn't smell as strongly as her boot, and as you lift it up preparing to take the plunge, the thought crosses your mind that the smell wasn't so bad. You feel her smooth skin in a manner that can only be described as fondling. You're quite enthralled, your own feet feel nothing like this and you, for a brief moment, are slightly jealous. Yet another feeling that Miranda will never be told of.

Miranda's toes are nearly touching your face, yet you stop as you feel the call of the void. There's no way you could ever unlick Miranda's toes. You feel Miranda's gaze upon you, no longer invested in the ruse of working. She speaks softly, almost a whisper “I have wondered what it would feel like...” she pauses, flicking her toes, touching Jack's chin, “... having my toes licked.”

You don't expect it, but the touch of her toe to your face sends a silent shiver down your spine. You close your eyes and lick Miranda's big toe. You're slow and deliberate, and pausing before removing your tongue. You had expected it to taste bad, but it's better than you imagined. You're under no illusions that it tastes like chocolate, but you had prepared for a revolting flavor. Looking up at Miranda, you're reminded that your tongue is still on her toe.

You had hoped to turn this situation around. You're not happy having to admit your curiosity about Miranda's feet, but your plan going into this was clear. You may not get the better of the cheerleader in conversation, but you can get the better of her in action. You will be the aggressor and overwhelm Miranda's verbal superiority with your non-verbal superiority and presence. You're not used to resorting to this kind of tactic in a nonviolent way, and neither were you used to being in charge in your previous sexual encounters, not that this is a sexual encounter. You're not used to being involved with other women, and you know how dangerous Miranda can be. You're not sure how far you're willing to go yourself, but you're certain that however far the cheerleader would take it, you'd be willing to go further. This plan started with accepting Miranda's offer, but it doesn't stop there.

To win against Miranda, you need to go further, it can't stop with simple licking. You're prepared to get very intimate with Miranda's feet. Your eyes meet with Miranda's and you lick it again, and again, tracing new paths each time. So focused on your conflict with Miranda, you didn't stop to enjoy the qualities of her feet. To your delight, she clearly did not expect this out of you.

Her unsteady look is enough for you to see for now. The more you get into it, the more in control of this you are. You let go of Miranda's right foot and switch straight to her left, placing a big lick from the bottom of her arch all the way up to between her toes. You really taste it this time, and it's just as you wanted. You repeat the same lick between two more toes, again and again, until you've tasted between all of them. You quite like the area, and make a note to go back and do that to the right foot once you're done here. But before you've finished with this one, you weren't going to miss out on the toes themselves, bringing the whole big toe into your mouth and sucking on it as if it were candy.

You're not a big fan of candy, never truly being in an area where you can expect to find the luxury. Alien candy and treats are notoriously unappealing to most humans, and some can be toxic. Apart from the human colonies or the Citadel, treats like candy are best avoided by humans. Those were places you've not been since you were abducted from Eden Prime. Besides, candy never really appealed to you. Sweets are the coddling of the senses.

By that definition, Miranda's toes are candy. You had forgotten your conflict with her, actually sucking on them, your tongue licking every surface it could reach. Before long you switch to sucking more than one toe at a time, sometimes even 3. Your tongue would dart in and out of them as if it were a child on a playground chasing another through the obstacles.

Miranda remains perfectly still, unmoving since you started. She sits in stunned silence, watching. Clearly she had never expected you to do it, maybe unsure of how right she was about your interest in her feet. If so, you had cleared that up for her. As you take a brief moment to watch her expression, the conflict on her face of pleasure and disgust gives you mild satisfaction. Her toes twitch in your mouth as you lick between them, and it crosses your mind that perhaps the Cerberus officer is ticklish, or maybe she's incredibly nervous. You hope it's both. Whatever satisfaction she got out of being right about your craving, you take right back.

You switch feet again, and this time you shove all of Miranda's toes in your mouth, sucking hard and licking with purpose and ferocity. The flavors and smells have grown on you, it's becoming very easy to lose yourself while doing this. You withdraw the foot a little bit from your mouth and start licking between Miranda's toes as you steal another glance up at their owner. The look on Miranda's face is almost as good as the taste of her feet. She looks like she's trying hard not to enjoy it. Despite what others may think of you, you're normally not a sadistic person. With Miranda, all bets are off. Whether her discomfort was from the attention to her feet, the fact that you both were rivals, or the fact that you were a girl, it made no difference to you.

You push it deeper into your mouth and suck on her whole foot, making a popping noise as it leaves your mouth. You take the other foot and bring them both up to your face and lick all around her arches, then heels a little, back up to tickle the bottom of her toes. You start sucking on her toes again, going two and three at a time and jumping around between them. Only after you've decided you've done enough do you put Miranda's feet down. Without a word you move to sit on her bed, taking her boots and smelling each one.

It's actually cathartic. You would never have done this before, but you feel a lot better for it. Maybe it's because you took control of the Miranda and there's nothing she could do to stop you. “You _do_ have smelly feet,” you say, breaking the pungent silence with the words that got you into this trouble in the first place.

“That might not be such a bad thing...” Miranda replies, less composed than you typically hear from her. The silence creeps back into the room and Miranda looks as though she might say something else, but thinks better of it.

You inhale another draught of her boots in affirmation. “You do have fine toes, cheerleader, I have to admit.” You stand to leave, yet Miranda sits unmoving, her expression one of mild disbelief. As you walk to the door just before it opens, you look back, “Paint them black next time.”

You leave before Miranda has any time to protest. You need to get back to your space under engineering, there's a situation developing between your legs that needs handling. You're grateful for your fearsome reputation; nobody would dare ask you why you have Miranda's boots.


End file.
